


The Ecstasy of a Punishment Well-Deserved

by ThrallofPentacles



Series: The Sins of Saint Atara [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: (an implication about how being part-demon happened), Begging, Crying, Cuddling, F/F, Face Sitting, Forced Masturbation, Hair-pulling, Hate Sex, Humiliation kink, Licking, Loss of Virginity, Object Insertion, Orgasm Delay, Pain, Pussy Spanking, Rape Roleplay, Rough Sex, S&M, Shame, Slight suffocation kink, Slut Shaming, Sort Of, Vaginal Fingering, Verbal Humiliation, Whips, brief and non-graphic reference to past rape/non-con, but also sort of soft?, knifeplay? but with claws
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 23:15:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30096648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThrallofPentacles/pseuds/ThrallofPentacles
Summary: "I don't want to be anything like you. I have tried to get you to unclench enough to be even remotely bearable, but you know what? I give up. You're not worth the air you breathe."They'd been enemies a long time—ever since Zethys had broken into a convent to steal several relics won in the third crusade—but she'd never spoken to Atara with so much venom before. Her breath caught in her throat."Keep going," she said, before she could stop herself.(Local repressed cleric uses the power of masochism to get around religious guilt and finally bang her part-demon crush/nemesis.)
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Series: The Sins of Saint Atara [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2227125
Comments: 10
Kudos: 65





	The Ecstasy of a Punishment Well-Deserved

**Author's Note:**

> brief warning here: this is all consensual, but the pov character does try/want to do a few things that are horrifically unsafe, like drop the object that's acting as her safeword. her partner shuts that shit down, but like... don't do that at home, folks!
> 
> also, i have [a website](https://thrallofpentacles.wixsite.com/website) if you want to send me a prompt! :)

The most ancient and holy amulet of Saint Selascerin, the gift forged from the light undying of Helos Our Lord On High, the legendary instrument by which Selascerin had healed his entire army in one mighty spell, sat in the center of Atara's palm. It was heavier than she'd expected. Solid gold, studded with glittering rubies in the shape of a blooming rose. Beautiful.

She'd spent twenty years tracking it down. The Battle of Mount Akani had been centuries ago, and the most holy relic hadn't been seen since. Atara had scoured archives all over the continent before she finally got a lead to this castle, and it had been a long and gruelling fight past an entire cult of vampires... but she'd done it. There was a decent chance that when she got back to the Citadel, Atara—the little nobody who had only barely become somebody when she took her oath as a cleric—would be sainted herself.

It was a difficult moment to ruin, but that didn't mean Atara's least favorite person in the world wasn't hell-bent on trying.

"I kind of assumed it'd burn me or something," Zethys said, and poked the amulet. Poked. The amulet of Saint Selascerin. With the inky-purple claws she'd inherited from a literal demon somewhere up the family tree. On a hand she regularly used to enact heretical sorceries.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Atara snarled, clutching the relic protectively against her chest.

"Not getting burned, apparently." Zethys sounded disappointed. "An entire castle full of evil vampires to get your hands on this thing and it can't even burn one measly tiefling? Waste of effort if you ask me."

"The amulet is an instrument of healing." Atara made to put it on, purely for safekeeping, then balked and tucked it into her armor instead. "It can't burn people. No matter how shriveled and vile their souls may be."

Zethys' eyes flashed. They were the color of fresh blood, their pupils slitted sidelong like a goat's. Even after the better part of a decade, Atara still couldn't look at them without her heart climbing up into her throat and her stomach fluttering with what she'd decided was anxiety. "Careful, 'Tara. Keep giving me compliments like that and I might get dangerous."

There was an edge to the words. Maybe mocking... maybe something else. Atara's hand drifted to the pommel of her sword, but she didn't draw it. Loathsome as it might have been, she'd made a deal. This once—and _only_ this once—she wouldn't attack the foul sorceress, and Zethys wouldn't attack her either. Normally a truce with a tiefling would be tantamount to blasphemy, but there hadn't been any other choice. She was almost as powerful as she was hateful, and Atara couldn't have fought her _and_ the vampire cult. So when she'd offered to help, in exchange for keeping the rest of the treasure they found in the castle... well. The amulet was more important than one heretic.

"It's done," she said shortly. "Time for us to go our separate ways and forget this ever happened. Don't let me see you again."

Zethys bared her teeth—the incisors were half again as long as a human's, and tapered to two cruel points that never failed to make Atara's palms prickle with sweat. "Fine by me!," she said, and Atara realized, to her horror, that the sorceress was trying to look innocent. "If I never have to talk to another holy cleric, it'll be too soon. Don't get me wrong, I know when you're bound in chastity that stick up your ass is the best action you can get, but it still makes you miserable conversationalists."

Atara chose to ignore this. She marched out the door of the treasure room and headed down the nearest set of stairs, only for Zethys to jog after her. As she moved, she ran a cloth reverently down the length of her whip, coiled it tenderly, and tucked it into her belt. It made for a bizarre image, when the hilt of the weapon was a chunk of black iron, cast in the shape of a braid of writhing snakes and capped with a grinning skull.

"Where do you think you're going?" Atara demanded.

"Downstairs?" Zethys blinked at her. Another expression that was probably supposed to look innocent, ruined utterly by her hellfire-red eyes. "I _was_ considering moving in, but the upper floors are much too drafty." She tapped her chin, canting her head to one side. Her thick black hair brushed over a pair of curved horns that protruded from her temples. "Maybe if I had a really nice pair of slippers."

When they reached the castle's exit, and Atara set off at top speed down the road, she had only an instant to hope before Zethys followed her. "Don't look so horrified," she said, draping an arm across Atara's shoulders. "I'm heading west, I'll be out of your hair by Atki's Crossing."

Atara would have given just about anything to draw her sword then and there—because Atki's crossing was a full day's journey from here, and Zethys had compounded the indignity of touching her by _wrapping her tail around her waist!—_ but she couldn't do that. She'd made an oath, and oaths were sacred. Even if she wasn't supposed to be making them to demons. So instead Atara shoved her off and snarled, "Stay away from me."

Zethys raised her hands in surrender. She smirked, one pointed tooth poking out over her lower lip—but her tail curled miserably around one of her legs. They walked on in silence, not looking at one another, for a very long time.

* * *

There was one inn on the road between the castle and Atki's crossing. It was tiny and cramped, the sort of place that usually went months between visitors because the only interesting thing on this blasted road was an old castle infested with vampires. As such, it probably shouldn't have surprised her that there was only one room. It shouldn't have, but it did, and she scowled so ferociously that the innkeeper looked ready to faint.

"I'm terribly sorry," he said, running a hand through his sandy hair. "Of course, for a cleric of Helos we can easily make more room. My son and I will sleep in the barn—"

"No," Atara said quickly, hating herself. "No, that's alright. My... acquaintance and I can share it."

His eyes flicked towards Zethys. She was disguised for the occasion—her vivid eyes had turned violet, and the horns and tail were nowhere to be seen. She hadn't seen fit to change anything about the whip, which might have been why he was staring. Or he might just be looking at the the rich tumble of her hair and the proud sharp angles of her face.

Atara paid the innkeeper five silver and stomped her way up the stairs. It was unforgivably rude, but it was also the best way to avoid looking at Zethys at all on the way to their room. She swallowed the guilt and kept going.

Once inside, Atara was relieved to see that there were at least two beds—she could have sat on the floor, but it would have rankled to start tomorrow's travel with a sore back because she'd been obligated to give guest rights to _Zethys._ She removed her armor but made no attempt to change out of her traveling gear. The amulet she tucked into a leather pouch around her neck. Then she settled herself cross-legged on the mattress, with her hands on her knees and her eyes wide open.

Zethys arched an eyebrow. Her disguise had dropped the moment she closed the door behind her—as such, Atara was pinned under the full weight of her otherworldly stare. "Are you planning to sit there all night?"

"Yes."

"Do you seriously think I'm going to kill you in your sleep?"

"You might. Or you might steal the amulet." Atara had worked too hard to secure the relic to let it fall into the hands of a monster through sheer carelessness.

"Ugh." Zethys collapsed onto her back on her own bed. _"Why,_ 'Tara? I don't care about your dusty old relic, I already got everything I wanted out of that place. And I'm not about to attack you when you can't attack back, either."

"What, you expect me to take your word for it?" Atara scoffed. "There's too much at stake for that, and I don't trust you."

Zethys sat up abruptly. "Well, whose fault is _that?"_

"You're part demon." Atara had never said it so bluntly before, but Zethys knew what she was. This couldn't have been a surprise for her.

The sorceress flinched. Then she stood up, her back stiff and her clawed hands clenched at her sides. "What happened to my grandmother wasn't her fault," she spat. "And it isn't mine, either."

Atara's planned comeback died in her throat, drowned by the surge of horror that roiled in the pit of her stomach. All she could do was sit there, stunned, as Zethys started to pace. She didn't say anything else, but her expression was more than enough. Her lip curled in disgust. One of those pointed incisors poked out.

What was _wrong_ with her? She'd always thought tieflings were the result of... well... she tried _not_ to think about that, but if she had she would have assumed it was some sort of cult ritual that did it. But the alternative was as obvious as it was awful. Saint Selascerin was benevolent, all the books said so—he would never have treated a child of Helos poorly for the misfortune of her ancestor.

And then, Atara caught up with her own thoughts. What _was_ wrong with her? She felt bad for a demon. Clerics were not supposed to feel bad for demons. Saints were _especially_ not supposed to feel bad for demons. Her confusion turned to panic—she was paralyzed with a choice between terrible sins, and her silence stretched on a beat too long.

Zethys stopped pacing. "Fuck you," she said, with finality. "You and your pack of hypocrites."

Suddenly, Atara could breathe again. "I deserved that," she admitted. "I—you're right. That wasn't your choice."

"No shit."

"It doesn't have to be like this," Atara said softly. "It's clear to me now that you're no more doomed to sin than I am. If you came to him, I'm sure Helos could—"

"Oh, for _fuck's_ sake!" Zethys gripped the hilt of her whip. "If I'd realized you were this much of a heinous bitch I never would have wasted my time in that stupid castle!"

  
Atara's stomach clenched. "I'm just trying to help."

Zethys burst into incredulous laughter. "Yeah, I'm sure it would be a huge help to join your little club full of people who want me dead, you _fucking idiot."_

She flushed. "I thought—" she stammered, but Zethys cut her off with a snarl that made her shiver.

"I don't want to be anything like you. I have _tried_ to get you to unclench enough to be even remotely bearable, but you know what? I give up. You're not worth the air you breathe."

They'd been enemies a long time—ever since Zethys had broken into a convent to steal several relics won in the third crusade—but she'd never spoken to Atara with so much venom before. Her breath caught in her throat.

"Keep going," she said, before she could stop herself.

Zethys recoiled. _"What?"_

There was a rushing sound in her ears that made it hard to think. In a sudden panic, Atara brushed her fingertips over the symbol of Helos stitched into her shirt and used a spell to check herself for magical influence. There wasn't any.

That was probably worse.

"Unbelievable." Zethys shoved her, hard enough that Atara overbalanced and fell on her back on the bed. "I spend ten years trying to get through to you, and when I finally snap and start yelling at you, _that's_ when you want to listen to me? What is _wrong_ with you?"

She felt light-headed. Her hands shook, and so did her voice. "I don't know."

Livid, Zethys grabbed a fistful of her shirt collar and pushed her down. "I hate you. You're a pompous piece of shit and I regret every second I spent thinking about you." She leaned in, scarlet eyes burning into Atara like a brand. "You're a good actor. It took me a while to realize. But it's fake, isn't it? The pure saintly cleric routine. You're just a fraud."

A breathy whimper escaped her. There was no conscious intent behind it—Zethys had dragged it out of her like a confession. Atara watched, petrified, as the sorceress went very still and very quiet. She seemed to realize what she was doing all at once, kneeling over Atara and holding her down against the bed, their faces inches apart.

"Fucking hell," she breathed. "Are you getting off on this?"

Atara recoiled, drawing in a sharp breath to scream, _"No!"_ But the disgust in Zethys' voice sank into her skin, coiling up deep in the pit of her stomach. Her skin tingled. She squeezed her eyes shut and said nothing, desperate to think nothing, _feel_ nothing.

There was a rustling sound, and Zethys pressed a small twig into her left hand. "Break this," she whispered, "and I'll stop. I swear on the grey river." A hand fisted in Atara's hair and yanked, exposing the column of her throat. "Even you deserve that much."

Atara might have put an end to it then and there—but then Zethys gripped her jaw, claws digging into the vulnerable spot under her chin, and stared down at her like a butcher deciding where to cut. She leaned down, straddling her hips as she bent close to her ear and said, "You're a liar, aren't you?"

A flush spread across Atara's face at the feeling of hot breath on her cheek. She tried to turn away, but Zethys tightened her grip and snapped, "Look at me." And she did. As helplessly as if commanded by magic, she stared up into those crimson eyes. "You can fool yourself all you want, pretending you're the perfect... little... priestess..."

The hand in Atara's hair drifted down, slipping under the hem of her shirt to rake across her stomach. She cried out, her back arching into the sharp sting of it. Zethys unlaced her shirt as she spoke, fingers digging greedily into every inch of skin she exposed. "You might do all the right things, but you can't change what you want."

Atara flinched when the tiefling touched the leather pouch around her neck—but Zethys made no move to take it off. She simply pushed it to the side so that she could run the knife's edge of her pointed tail down the center of Atara's chest, just lightly enough that she didn't draw blood. Then she ducked down, running her tongue up the side of her throat and pressing her lips to her ear. "And what you want makes you dirty, doesn't it?" She nodded dumbly as Zethys undid her belt, sliding off her trousers and leaving her in nothing but her underwear.

Somehow, Atara still understood this as motivated purely by the fact that her clothes made her more difficult to hurt. If Zethys started to touch her all over, claws tracing the insides of her thighs and the swell of her breasts, then that was only to dig them in until she gasped. If she felt feverishly hot, then that was just a reaction to the pain—and the tingling in the pit of her stomach was merely the ecstasy of enduring a punishment well deserved.

Zethys shattered that for her. She pressed a knee between Atara's legs and laughed when she yelped. "Don't play coy. I can feel how wet you are, you filthy fucking slut." And _Helos,_ she was.

She realized then that this had gone too far. There was honor in self-flagellation—and not too much shame, she hoped, in letting someone who hated you do it for you—but this was different. This was... pleasure. Twisted pleasure, tangled up in tearing claws and tearing words, but still a pleasure of the flesh. It was wrong.

  
Yet somehow, this did not translate to the simple action of snapping her lifeline. Not when Zethys hooked her thumbs under the waistband of Atara's underthings and slid them off, looking down at her with those sharp canines bared. A hand tickled the inside of her thigh, trailing upwards with agonizing slowness.

"There's no going back, now," Zethys told her, as she teased her way between Atara's legs. "You can be the next Saint Sallyrin, or whatever the fuck his name is, and it won't matter. You'll always know what you let me do to you."

Her breath hitched—not with horror, as it should have, or even desire, but with relief. "Do it," she whispered. "Break me."

Zethys pressed one hand flat over her abdomen to hold her down, as a clawed finger slid between her lips. She made no move to push it deeper—only moved it in slow, languid strokes until Atara's thighs trembled. "Please," she heard herself say, as if from some great distance. "Please, I need... inside..."

"I know you like it rough, but that would be a bit much." Zethy's pressed the tips of her claws against Atara's stomach, as if to remind her that they were there. As if she thought she'd forgotten.

"It has to hurt," she mumbled. "It has to—I _can't—"_

"Shh." Zethys took one of her nipples between her fingers and twisted until Atara saw stars. "I know. I'll make it hurt. Just not like that." She sat up and reached for the rickety little table between their beds, where she'd left her whip. With smooth and practiced motions, she made a loop in the leather about the size of her hand and gripped both ends together. "Spread your legs."

Atara opened herself up, shuddering at the feeling of cool air against wet skin. Her breath caught as Zethys' arm drew back, and then rushed out of her in a strangled cry when the loop of leather cracked down on her bare pussy. The sting was sharp, but brief—for a second things were still, and quiet, except for her ragged breath.

"I'm going to ask you some questions, now," Zethys told her. "You're going to answer them, and you're not going to lie. Because if you do—"

_"Ah!"_

"I'll hit you. If you don't answer, I'll hit you until you do. If you do answer, and I feel like hitting you, I'll hit you. Understand?"

Atara nodded.

"Do you like being spanked like this?"

Heat flared inside her. She flushed, squirming under those piercing red eyes, until the whip struck her again. "Yes!" she yelped, and felt suddenly very naked. It was as though she'd been standing in full plate armor, and with a word Zethys had stripped away all its protection and all its weight.

"Good girl." And then, without warning, Zethys hit her again, three times in quick succession, until Atara howled and fisted her hands in her own hair. "It must be so hard, a slut like you trying to be a cleric. Has anyone ever fucked you before?"

"N-no." It was an honest answer, and again Zethys hit her anyway. Atara sank into the pain, feeling far away. She held in her hand the tether that would bring her back when she came to her senses, and she didn't want it. She dropped it to the floor.

The whip stilled. _"No,"_ Zethys snapped, her voice as cold and hard as steel. A shutter went down behind her eyes as she bent to retrieve the twig. "You hold this or I will not fucking touch you. You hold it and you _break_ it if you need to. Do you understand me?"

Atara swallowed hard, and nodded. Zethys shut her eyes and breathed deeply, and when she opened them again they were all hunger again. "I tried to read all those codes of purity you're supposed to live by, but there were just so many, I've forgotten... are you allowed to touch yourself?"

"No."

A predator's grin pulled at Zethys' lips. "Do you touch yourself?"

"N-no."

Sharp claws dug into her side. "Liar," Zethys snarled, and brought the whip down in a series of agonizing blows. Atara's legs jerked closed instinctively, but the tiefling forced them open again, slapping her cunt over and over again until tears stung her eyes.

"Yes, yes, I'm sorry, please stop, _yes!"_

"That's better. How do you touch yourself?"

Shame burned behind Atara's eyes. "I can't," she pleaded. "I can't talk about— _ngh!"_ She clenched her jaw through more blows, sobbing through her teeth as the stinging pain layered on top of itself, until she writhed beneath Zethys and finally, finally betrayed herself. "My fingers," she gasped. "At night, when it's dark and I'm almost asleep... I try to fight it but I can't, I _can't,_ and then I undo my laces and I put my hand in my trousers and I—" She hiccupped with guilt and embarrassment, tears sliding down her cheeks. "I rub myself until I come. I'm so disgusting, I— _ah!"_

Zethys cut her off with another vicious slap. "What do you think about when you rub that horny pussy?"

"Nothing." And then, when Zethys' eyes narrowed, "Nothing! I just lie there in the dark and I feel it, that's all."

"Hm." The loop of whip came down, gently this time, to tease at her entrance. It was slick with her filth. "I think there's something else. Something you're not telling me."

Zethys spanked her again, "There's nothing!" and again, "Women, sometimes, just images," and again, "I don't know," and, "Please!" and finally, "I can't! I can't say it, don't make me, _please_ don't make me!"

Atara was trembling now, so badly that Zethy's put down the whip and ran a flat palm over her stomach. "Shh," she whispered. "You don't have to say. It's alright. Breathe."

"More," she gasped, as the stinging between her legs faded, leaving only throbbing need. "Please."

So Zethys cracked the whip against her pussy, against the little nub at the apex of her mound, against the insides of her thighs, turning the skin there flushed and red. She hit her until Atara sobbed and begged her to stop, and then when Atara told her to keep going anyway she did. As she was punished, Zethys' eyes grew darker. Hungrier. Until she tossed the whip to the side of the bed and pinned her down roughly at the shoulders.

"Enough playing," she growled, and pulled off her shirt. Atara swallowed hard. "I'm going to use you however I want, and you're going to be a good girl and take it." Tossing the rest of her clothes blindly across the room, she crawled over Atara until she was kneeling over her head. She took her free hand and placed it on her thigh.

"Tap once if you want to breathe," she said. "Twice if you _need_ to breathe."

Whether Atara wanted to breathe or not seemed immaterial—she couldn't, not when she was on her back like this, looking up the length of Zethys' naked body. She was wet, too, from punishing Atara. She couldn't seem to look away from her cunt. Part of her wanted to reach up and touch it, but fear and shame kept her paralyzed.

It didn't matter. Zethys lowered herself down, until she hovered just over Atara's face. A clawed hand clenched a fistful of her hair and held her to the bed. It was at odds with her voice, which was almost soft as she said, "Use your tongue. It's alright if you don't know how. Just do what feels right. And no teeth."

And then, she pressed herself against Atara's mouth. Tentatively, she pushed her tongue into Zethys. She gasped and rolled her hips, tugging hard at Atara's hair. The pain felt good, and being pinned down under her weight felt good, and being used felt good. So she obeyed every command she was given, until Zethys' breathing grew heavy and she started to rock back and forth.

The first time she tapped Zethys thigh, just once, the sorceress pulled away and let her choke and gasp for air. The second time, she was ignored. She whimpered through her nose, her cunt throbbing. A few seconds later, she tapped again. Only once. Begging and pleading and exalting in the thrill of being denied.

"Take it, you fucking bitch," Zethys snarled, yanking at her hair. And then, when Atara tried to moan and was muffled, "You're so disgusting."

Atara's vision began to blur, and she tapped twice. Zethys pushed herself up, panting and gasping, sweat beading on her forehead. "Fuck," she said, "I'm close, I'm so close..."

As soon as Atara lay back, Zethys mounted her and started to grind against her mouth. "Can't believe you... call yourself a cleric," she groaned, through the frantic heaving of her chest. "Look at you. My little _toy."_

Atara tapped her leg once. She didn't need to breathe at all—she just wanted Zethys to tug her hair and snap, "No!" and move faster, harder, her thighs clenching around Atara's head. They started to shake. "My nasty slut. All mine. You— _belong—_ to—!"

And then Zethys convulsed. Her slick ran down Atara's chin, and her fingers clenched and unclenched in her hair, and her words broke off into a string of breathless gasps and moans. She drew back to kneel over Atara's chest, her alien eyes glazed over, her lip bleeding slightly where she'd bitten it. "Are you tired?" she asked, when she'd caught her breath.

Atara was always tired. Always. So she was probably tired right now, but she couldn't feel it—all she could feel was her own heartbeat pounding between her legs. "Touch me?" she pleaded. She was ashamed, as she was always ashamed, but she couldn't feel that, either—except as another rush of heat deep in her core. "Hurt me," she added, spreading her legs. "Like... like before, or your fingers, I don't care."

"I'm still not going to rip a hole in you," Zethys said, a hint of exasperation in her voice. She frowned, her head tilting to one side, her eyes roving over Atara's face. Her jaw set, as she seemed to come to some decision. "I'm going to ruin you."

She reached for the whip again, and Atara spread her legs in anticipation. But she didn't make a loop in the lash, this time. She gripped it just above where the handle began, running her hand over the iron skull at the pommel. Then, moving slowly so that Atara could see what she was doing, she pressed it against her entrance. The metal was cold enough to make her flinch.

"I can't just shove it in," Zethys said, her eyes glimmering with mischief. "You need fingers inside you first, to open you up."

"But... you said..."

"I did. Which is why it's not going to be _my_ fingers."

"That's—I can't!" Atara blurted. "Please, just... just do it, I don't care if it hurts, I _want_ it to hurt—!"

Zethys reached between Atara's legs. She found that sensitive spot at her apex and pinched it until she cried out. "Enough," she snapped. "There's a difference between pain and _damage._ I will happily inflict the first but we are _not_ going to be doing any of the second. Touch yourself. Just your index finger now."

"But—"

Another jolt of pain made her back arch. Zethys still had that little nub between her fingers, and that was what finally made Atara reach down. She hesitated for a long time, letting Zethys punish her, letting that ground her, until she could finally rest the tip of her finger against her entrance. It was soaked. _Obscene._

"Push it inside."

Atara whimpered as she pushed down. Her pussy was slippery, and for several seconds she just rubbed it, pressing at every wrong angle until her finger plunged into her body and she nearly screamed. The inside of her was hot and wet, and she could feel herself clenching around the intrusion.

"That's it." Zethys stroked her stomach with her free hand. "In and out, now. Touch everything. See how deep you can go."

Atara could do it only because she had to, because if she stopped Zethys would pinch her. "This is your clit," she said. "I'm not sure if you know that." And Atara realized all at once that she had somehow contrived to give her an _anatomy lesson._

"What are you doing?" she demanded. "This isn't—I asked you to _break me._ Stop... stop whatever this is."

"Fine," Zethys said. And then she pulled Atara's hand away and spanked her with the whip until she was breathless, and when that was done she grabbed her wrist and pulled it to her entrance. "Two fingers, slut. You're going to fuck yourself for me."

Atara sobbed as they went in, because she was so slick that it didn't hurt at all. But Zethys kept talking as she pumped them in and out. "You're worthless," she said. "Nothing but a fucking liar. Would a real cleric touch herself like this? Huh?"

"No," Atara moaned. "I'm such a—" and she stumbled, because the word itself was a sin, but then her fingers curled up against a sensitive ridge inside of her and it was like a dam had burst. "I'm a filthy slut, I'm nasty, I'm wrong, I'm _sorry!"_

"Three fingers."

She hesitated, so that Zethys would pinch her clit and force her. The third finger hurt going in, and Atara could finally relax. She thrust as deep as she could go, still crying, until the pain of the stretch faded and all she could feel was sick pleasure.

"That's it." Zethys gently tugged her hand away. "That's enough. Take deep breaths for me, now."

Atara tried. It wasn't easy, when half of them hitched into sobs. She felt the kiss of the iron, a cold bite that made her shiver. Zethys rested a hand on her knee and pushed the handle. She abandoned all thought of breathing deeply and started to hyperventilate.

"Are you—"

"Don't," she blurted. "I want—I need you to make me take it."

"Okay." Zethys patted her knee. "Remember your out."

This time, when she felt the touch of the handle, Atara begged her to stop. Zethys pinned her down, her knees on her thighs to force her legs open. She rubbed the pommel up and down until the metal warmed. Until Atara writhed underneath her, sobbing, "Take it away, take it away!" and meaning, _More, I need more._

Zethys gave her more. She lined up the handle of the whip and pushed the skull pommel against Atara's entrance. "Don't, please!" she gasped, and let out a strangled cry as pressure turned into pain. She bucked instinctively under Zethys' weight, and that only made it worse—until the widest part of the pommel popped inside her and the handle sank into her cunt and punched all the air from her lungs.

_"Helos,"_ she choked out.

"No," Zethys growled, twisting the handle inside her until her vision blurred. "When I fuck you, you say _my_ name."

She pumped the handle in and out, the claws of her free hand and the tip of her tail dragging roughly over Atara's thighs until she gave in and howled, "Zethys, _please!"_

"Not so untouchable now, are you bitch?" She did something with the handle that tore a full-throated moan from somewhere deep in Atara's chest.

Atara felt her pussy clench around the handle and started to cry again. "It hurts," she whimpered, because she was getting used to the stretch and it almost didn't anymore. A terrible light came on in Zethys' crimson eyes.

Her fingers found Atara's clit, and she braced herself for pain. She expected pain. But Zethys touched her lightly, rubbing gentle circles there, and she realized in that instant that she was really going to do it. She was going to make good on her threat, and ruin her.

"No, no, please!" she babbled, as the room filled with the wet sounds of her body being violated. "Not that, I can't, please don't make me!" Atara had no idea what she meant. Her panic was real—but she didn't use her lifeline. She wanted...

She wanted Zethys to destroy her.

So she clung to the sheets with trembling fingers, making desperate animal sounds as Zethys fucked her. The pain was all gone, leaving only the hot slide of the metal inside her and the wicked fingers that teased her clit. Zethys watched her as she struggled, her expression unfathomable as she drove Atara to the edge of desperation and left her there.

"Please..."

"I'll give you what you need," Zethys said. "All you have to do is ask for it."

It was the cruelest thing she'd ever done. Atara thrashed and cried, arching her back into every thrust, her chest heaving as she burned with sensation. She whispered _please,_ over and over. And Zethys said, "Please what?"

She could hardly speak through her sobs, now. "I can't say it!"

Sharp teeth flashed in a wicked grin. "Then I'll just keep playing with my dirty little toy."

"Let me go," Atara begged, when she'd lost all hope of release. "Take it out, it _hurts—"_

"You know how to stop this," Zethys told her. And just because she could, she bent low and ran her tongue over Atara's stomach.

_"Fuck,"_ Atara moaned. "Zethys, I need it."

"No you don't." The handle bottomed out inside her, filling her mind with static. "You want it. So say it." Her voice dropped into a low purr. "Or I could keep torturing you all night long. Maybe I'll spank you again, then bend you over the bed and fuck you that way. Maybe I'll just tie you down and ride you, make you watch me come over and over when you can't."

A clawed hand trailed down Atara's side with jarring softness. And then, as if grabbing a loose thread to unravel her with, "I know what you are, you lying bitch. I know how you touch yourself at night. You want to be good so bad, but you're not. You're just a filthy, horny slut who can't keep her hands off her nasty wet pussy. I know all that already. So say it. Tell me what you want."

"I want to come," she said, her voice tiny and weak in the face of her own nakedness.

"Good girl," Zethys told her, and shattered her.

The handle plunged into Atara, and Zethys' palm ground down against her clit, and this time when she screamed Zethys' name it wasn't a plea at all—it was an exaltation, a cry of worship. Her body sank into a sea of sensation, and for a glorious instant she clenched and shuddered on the handle of her enemy's whip and there was nothing else in the world that mattered.

She reached out in supplication, her raw nerves alight with aftershocks, and Zethys gathered her to her chest. Atara pressed her face into her neck, her chest heaving with sobs, feeling like a new creature that had forcefully usurped her own body.

"Easy," Zethys murmured, pressing her lips to Atara's forehead. "Breathe with me." She pulled Atara's hand to her chest, and soon the frantic racing of her heart slowed. "You did so well." Clawed hands tangled in her hair, not to tug but to caress. "So good for me. That's it."

The warmth that filled her began to drain away, replaced with icy dread. _"Helos,_ what have I done?"

"Nothing," Zethys said firmly, cupping her cheek in her hand. "There is nothing wrong with wanting."

Atara pressed her hands over her eyes to blot out the sight of her sorceress, naked and achingly beautiful, still covered in a sheen of sweat. "This is a dream," she said, as if that could force it true. "Just another—" and then she realized what she was saying and clamped her mouth shut.

Zethys wrapped around her, pressing her chest against Atara's back. "I'm here," she said. "Until you fall asleep."

Atara curled onto her side. Zethys lay behind her, legs pressed against hers, tail looped over her waist. Her mind distant and fuzzy, safe in the knowledge that she had already so thoroughly betrayed herself to this woman that she couldn't possibly make it worse, she whispered, "You asked what I thought about. When I... when I touch myself."

"...I did."

"Usually it's nothing. Sometimes it's you."

"Oh."

"But it doesn't matter," Atara insisted. "This... this can't happen again."

"Oh," Zethys said again. Her voice was thick. "Do you want me to stay away from you?"

Atara's heart sank. "Would you?" she asked. "You never have before."

"If you asked me now, I would."

"No," Atara said, which was not the word she'd decided on. "It's fine. This—it happened, and now it's over, and it won't happen again. We're adults, with—with self control!"

The tail around her waist squeezed gently. "Okay," Zethys whispered, and this time there was a hint of a smile in it. "Should I get up, or...?"

Atara bit her lip. The damage had already been done, hadn't it? And the room was cold, and Zethys was _astoundingly_ warm... "It's fine. We'll part ways in the morning."

Zethys hummed. It was a very amused hum—one that might have struck Atara as extremely suspicious, if she hadn't already been halfway asleep. But she was, and so she drifted off still confident that her plan for the future was completely foolproof.


End file.
